


The Courage of Stars

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cancer, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9414563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: It wasn’t supposed to be like this.Then again, not many things were.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous requested "#9 War's end kiss (make it a prank war) pick any pairing :P" at my tumblr, [fairylights101writes](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Mentions of death, but no actual character death.  
> I do want to say that I've never had cancer or gone through chemo, but I did do research, so I hope I portrayed this correctly.

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this._ Matsukawa stared at his hands, shaking faintly as he listened with half an ear to his Mom talk with the doctor.

“When will be need to start treatment?”

“As soon as possible. We’ll run more tests this weekend so we can get a full grasp on how severe it is. We caught it relatively early, so the chances are good.”

“Thank God.”

 _Thank God?_ He wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry. _It was just a sore leg. It was supposed to just be a pulled ligament. Growing pains. Something,_ anything _, but this._

“Issei?”

His eyes flicked up. The doctor adjusted her white coat and peered at him, eyes sympathetic. Anger bubbled in his gut, the most he’d felt since the numbness had crashed in thirty minutes before. He didn’t want her sympathy, didn’t want the pity he knew the team would give him. _Fuck. I have to tell them._ His hands tightened, balled up into fists on his knees as he managed a weak smile. “Yeah?”

“Do you have any questions?”

His eyes slid over to the X-ray, still on display. He shook his head. There were too many thoughts spinning around his head for something as simple as that. Already forming what he would say to Coach Irihata. To the team. To _Hanamaki_.

The doctor eyed him for a moment before she nodded and turned back to his mother. The words rushed past him in a wave. He just sat there and stared, fingers coming together and twitching. Scratching.

He didn’t realize they were done until his Mom gently prodded him up off the examination table, and he trailed after her to the car. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them cried. It was weird - he’d always envisioned such a shitty diagnosis being hounded by tears and sobbing and a shit-ton more. Yet all he felt was blank. Even the prickles of anger from earlier had faded into the backdrop of numbness, broken only by the ache in his leg.

His Mom stopped the car in their driveway, but she didn’t move. He didn’t either. It was the shaky inhale that made him twist, right as she slumped forward, face into her hands, shoulders hitching. Without a word Matsukawa leaned over and pulled his Mom into his chest, movements mechanical, as she hiccuped. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly, gaze off in the distance. Not really focused on the house in front of them, or the flowers his Dad had planted right before school had started that had finally started to bloom.

Trembling hands clutched at his arms, desperate. He squeezed her tight and nodded to the words blubbered into his arms. There was no prickle behind his eyes, no thickness in his throat. Only a heavy weight on his chest, one that made it a little hard to breathe, a little hard to focus. “It’s okay,” he said again, quieter this time. His Mom just cried harder.

He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, just that eventually she pulled away, wiped her eyes, and stared at him, lips trembling. “Issei,” she whispered, “You can cry. It’s alright.”

He blinked at her. Shrugged. “I know.” He just _couldn’t_ . There were no tears. There was _nothing._

“Let’s go in. I’ll make tea.”

She nodded, a weak jerk of her chin, and they slid out of the car. Matsukawa pretended he couldn’t feel the weight of her eyes as he limped up the front walk and let them in, the ache in his leg stronger than earlier. _Because you’ve got a tumor growing on it, you dumbass. Of course it’s going to fucking hurt._ He made a cup of black tea and set a mug in front of his Mom.

“I’m going to go upstairs. I’ve got some homework.” His Mom opened her mouth, but in the end she just nodded silently, eyes still red-rimmed. The weight of her gaze was heavy as he took his own cup, filled with sugar and honey, and slowly made his way upstairs, pain throbbing through his knee. _Probably because all that diving practice yesterday too._ He set the mug down on his desk and flopped into his chair, leg outstretched, slumped so that he could stare at the ceiling. There were luminescent stickers there, ones Oikawa had put up at some point. He couldn’t remember when - maybe in their first year.

His head lolled to the side. His corkboard was covered in pictures of his friends and teammates - mostly people he knew from volleyball though. Smiles filled the images, easy and warm. Weary fingers trailed across them. To the one Hanamaki had snapped when he’d shoved a pie tin full of shaving cream into Oikawa’s face. One of Yahaba and him grinning, his arm slung over the setter’s shoulders, while Kyoutani scowled on the other side, clearly not pleased impressed by the situation. He and Iwaizumi clutching each other’s palms in one of at least a dozen arm wrestling matches they’d had.

Him and Hanamaki curled up together on his bed, Makki’s head beneath his chin, their limbs all sorts of tangled together. Something that made his chest ache and go tight every damn time he stared at it. His fingers whispered across Hanamaki’s form, settled on that sleep-softened face. He smiled. Oikawa had taken that picture one day when he and Iwaizumi had come over to hang out before their third year began. When they’d woken up Hanamaki hadn’t jerked away, but instead had nestled closer, fingers tightening in Matsukawa’s hoodie. It had been nice - _too_ nice. All he’d wanted to do was kiss his friend, kick Oikawa and Iwaizumi out, and go back to sleep. But he hadn’t, and they’d woken up, Makki’s hair all messed up. Back when things had been _normal_.

Matsukawa sighed and let his hand drop away. _Will I even live long enough to get that? Would it even be fair if I wanted to be selfish?_ He shook his head and leaned forward. “Osteosarcoma,” he murmured with another shake of his head. “I could die.”

But for some reason it didn’t feel _real_ . Like it was something that wasn’t actually going to happen. Even though his body was actively trying to kill him. _Maybe I should make a list of things to do. Just in case._

He straightened up and rummaged around until he found a sheet of paper, and then a pen, and he leaned over his desk, pen hovering above the paper. _What though? Not just an average bucket list. Travelling and shit is expensive, and we’re all gonna have to be paying for treatments. Then there’s college to worry about too. Ah… what a hassle. I could always do pranks._ A faint smile curled his lips. _Pranks. That works._

Fifteen minutes later he leaned back, held the list up, and read through them, growing ever more satisfied with each the ten he’d scratched down.

  1. _Cover the principal’s car with sticky notes_
  2. _Fill a place with cups half-full of water(???)_
  3. _Turn as many backpacks as possible inside out in one go_
  4. _Take a classmate/teammate’s shit, weigh it down (wrap in plastic wrap), and toss into the fountain_
  5. _Put string webs all over the classroom_
  6. _The plastic wrap shit on the door of the classroom. Or club room_
  7. _Bouncy balls in Kyoutani’s club room locker_
  8. _Run Watari’s shorts up the flagpole_
  9. _Steal teammate’s underwear or something while they’re in the showers, hang up, attach vulgar sticky notes_
  10. _Kiss someone (imitate a classic pose or some shit)_



Matsukawa grinned, dropped his pen, and leaned back, thoughts and plans already swirling. His phone chimed. With a soft grunt he reached for his jacket, pulled it out of his pocket, and opened it up. A texted waited.

**From Meme Lord: hey nerd!!!! i hope ur feeling better cause i miss harassing ur ass. class and practice weren’t as fun tbh. you gonna come tomorrow???? (๑꒪▿꒪)***

His fingers twitched. His breath hitched. Tomorrow.

Hanamaki.

School.

The team.

_Hanamaki._

His phone slipped from his fingers, clattered to the floor as he sank forward, fingers pressed to his face, eyes blind. _Oh God. How am I going to tell him?_ A teasing throb worked up his leg and his face twisted, the numbness finally shattering as a flood of emotions crashed through. Rage. Terror. _Grief._

The world wobbled, blurred, and tears dripped out, dribbled to the floor between his feet as his body rocked with a silent sob. His arms shifted, wrapped tight around himself as he shook and rocked himself, all of his weight off his left leg as he let himself _shatter_ . It felt like hours passed before he manage to sit up and wipe his face. He took a few steadying breaths. Picked his phone up and called Makki. He picked up on the second ring.

_“Issei? Is everything okay?”_

The immediate concern made something in him crumble, made his heart quicken. _God, I love you so much._ He loved Makki in the kind of way that left his thoughts spinning around that pink-haired fool when he least expected it. Made his chest go all funny and tight with those bubbles of laughter. Made him fly into a panic every time that smile slipped away. His love was a big secret, wrapped tight and buried deep - so deep that only Iwaizumi knew, but those lips were sealed.

Matsukawa dropped his head back and drew in a slow, shuddering breath. A beat of silence.

_“Issei? Are you okay? Do I need to come over?”_

“Hiro,” he said softly, “You sittin’ down?” _“_

_Yeah. Why?”_

He smiled, wry and weak, and let his eyes slip shut. And in hushed words he told the boy he loved about everything - except for that big, dark secret of course. _He can’t know. Not now._

* * *

 

Practices were quiet after he let them know. It was weird, being seated on the sidelines, forced to just watch as his friends ran around on the court without laughing or talking. He’d been on the bench during practice before - a concussion in his second year, and they had been full of life. _Not surprising I guess._ They did have a weight on their minds, the whole “oh, my teammate was just diagnosed with cancer and is starting treatment imminently and might die, let’s keep on going the best we can”. It didn’t help that Oikawa had given them a speech that had been pretty damn close to that either. _It’s okay, they’ll be laughing soon. Or something._

He hummed to himself as he scribbled down more notes onto the clipboard. Coach Irihata had asked him to - maybe to make him feel better about it all. Or to make him feel useful. The doctor had told him to avoid physical activity, and Matsukawa couldn’t really complain. His knee almost seemed to hurt _more_ after that stupid appointment.

He sighed, shook his head, and refocused. Oikawa and Yahaba rotated setting to their spikers and middle blockers. After every spike Makki and Iwaizumi would jog to the back of the line and their eyes would cut over to him. A lot of glances had gone to him in the last four days. It was frustrating, the pity in their eyes, but there was determination too. And that made him proud, seeing them so focused on still getting better and not falling apart. _I’m not dead yet, mother fuckers._

He grinned and watched as Kyoutani charged the net and, with brutal force, slammed the ball, in bounds to boot. “Nice job, Mad Dog!” Oikawa sang. The blond snarled, dog-like, but he that was all he did before he darted to the back of the line. Matsukawa laughed to himself, but that drained away after a moment as he watched Makki go up for another spike.

 _Fuck, this is so boring._ He wanted to be _on_ the court, not just _by_ it. Another slap as Kindaichi drilled the ball over the net, out of bounds. He worried his lip and scribbled down some notes for Kindaichi’s form.

“Matsukawa.” The teen glanced up and found Coach Mizoguchi behind him, face as impassive and hardened as always. “What did you think about Kindaichi’s spike?”

Matsukawa glanced back to the court as Kunimi hit a spike. “Kindaichi can be a little stiff, and he tends to slow down when he comes up. His arms are going up too fast - a step or two before he jumps.”

Mizoguchi jerked his head in a nod, satisfied. And then, startlingly, he clasped Matsukawa’s shoulder. “Thank you for staying with us despite your health.”

He managed a weak smile and a nod. “You’ll have to lock me up before I stay away,” he said honestly - though there was another response lying on his tongue. _Saying “I’ll stop coming over my dead body is_ not _the thing you should say._ Mizoguchi nodded and strode away. Matsukawa sagged on the bench with a sigh and flicked his eyes back to his team.

After twenty more minutes Coach Irihata called the practice to an end and the team gathered their things. Matsukawa passed his clipboard off to the coaches and limped along with his friends to the club room, a smile building on his lips.

Oikawa was in front, blithely chattering to Iwaizumi when he opened the door and stepped in. The shriek that floated through the air was music to his ears, and he clapped his hand to his mouth. Oikawa had stepped onto the cups of water, too oblivious to stop in time, and had gone face-first right into the rest of them, sending water _everywhere_ . The rest of the club room was _filled_ with cups of water with a few centimeters between them, all half-filled with water.

He snorted. Eyes snapped to him and he watched as comprehension, then amusement dawned on their faces, and Matsukawa burst into laughter, ripping through his body as he bent over. “Oh- _oh my fuck_ -” he wheezed as he clutched at his sides.

And then, like a gust of fresh air, _everyone_ was laughing. Even _Kyoutani_ snorted as the team giggled and gasped as they watched Oikawa scramble up, knocking even more cups over, utterly ridiculous-looking. Yet a smile broke across his face, sunny and bright, and he laughed too, just for a moment, before his face narrowed into a devilish grin and he raised an eyebrow.

“So we’re playing pranks now, are we?” Matsukawa nodded, too winded to speak, and Oikawa’s grin spread. “Let’s call it war.”

Matsukawa smirked back. “I can’t wait.”

* * *

 

It ended up having to wait. His first chemo treatment came the day after, and the nausea that curled though his body and left him hunched over the toilet, retching for the entire weekend. But Monday found him slumped over on one of the chairs in the club room, eyes listlessly on Hanamaki as he changed. Though that process was a little delayed by the fact that every few seconds Makki would turn to him with those beautiful amber eyes softened with concern before he would run his fingers through Mattsun’s hair. It was a nice, soothing gesture that made his eyes flutter shut as he sighed every time.

The door opened, letting more and more people in, subdued chatter filling the room. Hands brushed across his back, comforting. Part of Matsukawa wanted them to stop. But their touches reminded him that things could be worse, that he was at least _at school_ instead of stuck at home, or worse, stuck in a hospital bed.

Oikawa squeezed his shoulder as he slipped in, but he didn’t move on like the rest had. Instead he crouched down beside Matsukawa and held there until he finally looked at his friend. Those warm brown eyes searched his face for a moment. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t feel good, alright? Or if you’re hurting too much. I know the stairs give you trouble.”

He smiled wryly and shrugged. “It’s okay Oikawa, I’ll manage. I don’t even feel that bad, I’m just tired from studying for an English test.” And by ‘studying’ he meant lying on his bed, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling until he’d finally managed to sink into an uneasy sleep sometime at three in the morning. He was positive he’d failed that test, no matter how good he was at English.

Oikawa raised an eyebrow, but he nodded. “You coming really means a lot to the team.” Matsukawa offered a tiny, tired smile, and Oikawa returned it before he squeezed Matsukawa’s shoulder and rose.

_Three. Two. One._

Oikawa opened his locker and made a quiet noise. Matsukawa glanced back as small balloons, about two dozen, spilled out of Oikawa’s locker and onto the floor. He grinned, just as a familiar laugh reached him. His eyes snapped to the left, where Watari and Kyoutani stood by their own lockers. “Nice one, Matsukawa,” Watari chirped as they both opened their lockers.

The bouncy balls inside rattled as they cascaded out and thumped across the floor, two-hundred between the two lockers that spread out throughout the locker room. His Cheshire-cat grin spread as all eyes gradually peeled away from the balloons and balls and found him. He giggled, and a second later Makki’s laughter joined in, sweet and beautiful in a way that made his heart thump far too hard to be healthy as he rocked against the back of the chair, draped over it and chuckling as the others playfully cursed him and had laughs of their own.

The lightness in the atmosphere was impossible to miss as snorts, boisterous laughter, and Makki’s cackling filled the clubroom, grins on every face - well, almost every face, but he was _positive_ that there was a faint curl to Kyoutani’s lips. It was enough that it buoyed his steps a little as he limped down the stairs, Hanamaki right by his side, all the way into the gym and onto the bench.

Another clipboard was pressed into his hands, and this time he took it without a second though. Coach Irihata clapped his back, waved the rest of the team onto the court. This time they actually _talked_ , and Matsukawa couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear as their familiar chatter finally began to bubble back up, no longer painfully subdued.

* * *

 

Three weeks later he shaved his hair off - it had already started to come out, just a little bit at a time, but he didn’t want to deal, and so his Mom sat him down on the back porch and took her salon tools to it. She’d kissed his head after, told him she loved him. His Dad had done much the same when he’d walked inside, squeezing him into a tight hug that took his breath away.

He walked into school the next day with a beanie. He could feel the eyes on him, the whispers of “Did Matsukawa shave his head?” and “Why’s he wearing a hat?” He just walked on, chin up, head held high. He’d missed the morning practice, too tired after a late night spend heaving over the toilet to wake up at the crack of dawn, and that nagged at him. _No time to swing by the club room… fuck._

He wasn’t as quick as he used to be after all, not with the ache that sometimes made it almost impossible to move without tears springing out - not that anyone but the doctor had to know. He was two meters from his classroom when his steps stuttered and he stopped, eyes widening as he stared at his friend. Hanamaki’s hair was _pink_. Like, bubblegum pink, obnoxiously bright, and yet all Matsukawa wanted to do was jolt forward and bury his hands into it and breathe in the scent of Makki’s shampoo. Instead those eyes found him and a smile spread across his friend’s lips as he approached.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Hanamaki chirped.

Matsukawa just rolled his eyes and swatted his friend, then reached up to ruffle the silky pink hair. If his fingers lingered for a second too long no one had to know. “What the fuck is this? You trying to tell me something? You’re Prince Bubblegum of the planet Bubble? I mean, it’d explain where you got the butt.”

Makki made a face at him, but he turned and wiggled his butt at Matsukawa, which he couldn’t resist pinching. Hanamaki squeaked and jerked back around, cheeks a softer pink than his hair, but he smiled anyways. “Asshole.”

“You love me.”

“I dunno, that’s debatable. But yeah, I figured if you lost all your hair then I might as well kinda join in. I don’t rock the bald look, but Mom thought the pink would be nice.”

Matsukawa shook his head and whacked his friend’s shoulder, but laughter bubbled out of them both, warm and rich, until Matsukawa swayed, light-headed. Instantly warm, large hands shot out and caught him, and it took everything in Matsukawa's willpower to not just slump into his friend’s chest. _That’s not something friends do, dumbass._

“You okay?” Makki whispered as he stepped closer. A thumb rubbed along the inside of Mattsun’s elbow.

His throat worked and he swallowed hard, but he managed a nod. “Yeah. Just side effect of the chemo.”

Hanamaki’s face twisted, a split second of grief before he nodded and hugged Matsukawa, not the familiar, tight embrace of a month previous, but something far gentler. As though Matsukawa was a fragile pot that would shatter under too much pressure. “Go sit down. I brought you some good stuff for lunch.”

He smiled into Makki’s shoulder and nodded. “Alright, alright.”

The hug lingered, perhaps a second too long to be healthy for him, but he wasn’t complaining not about that anyways. They parted with a wave and Matsukawa dragged his feet on his way into his class. The lessons were dull, and he slept through most of them, too exhausted to keep his eyes open. But none of the teachers said a thing, even though he knew Mr. Aizawa would normally have thrown an eraser at his head. The all knew. Perhaps they pitied him enough to cut him some slack.

Somehow he managed to wake up in time for lunch, and when half the class left to go join their friends in other classes he got to work. By the time Makki arrived he was busy with the thirteenth backpack, the rest of his classmates giggling behind him as he turned it inside out. Hanamaki leaned against a desk and watched him as he pulled the bottom and carefully tugged and pushed until the floral outside was neatly hidden within. He stuffed the books back inside, zipped it up, and replaced it, then returned to his own desk, Hanamaki on his tail, a grin on their lips. “You’re an asshole,” Makki teased as they sank down.

Matsukawa just grinned and winked at the rest of his classmates, who giggled. “Maybe,” he hummed, “But at least I’m funny.”

Makki gave him a strange look before he smiled and nodded as he slid a bento over. “You’re not wrong about that. Now eat.”

Matsukawa couldn’t help but moan with happiness as the cheese-filled hamburger steak inside, right beside a ton of onigiri, tomatoes, and more - all handmade by Hanamaki, or so the note on the inside of the lid proudly proclaimed, though he knew it was true. And it made his insides far warmer and fuzzier than they should have been as he dug in with a grin, Hanamaki’s eyes on him.

* * *

 

Matsukawa sagged against the wall of the clubroom, body too weak to move. Breathing was a chore, each breath too short and ragged. He was exhausted, even though he hadn’t done a damn thing but sleep, too weak and tired to do much else. “Fucking chemo,” he grumbled as he watched the door, then glanced at his watch.

The door was bound to open soon - it was half past six, and they usually finished practice up sometime after that. Coach Mizoguchi had actually come up to check on him when they’d found out he wouldn’t make it back downstairs - he’d even offered to phone Matsukawa’s parents and get them to pick him up, but Matsukawa had waved him off under the guise of homework. The truth was that he just wanted to make the long-ass day worth his time. Three setups were already in place, now all he needed was for his team to come back.

Matsukawa yawned and scratched at the inside of his arm, where the skin had gone dry. Yet another lovely side effect of the chemo. _Fucking pain in the ass, that’s what this is._ Sometimes it felt like it was only doing more harm - he’d gotten sick more times in the last four months than he had in the last four _years._ He constantly felt drained, and every damn hair on his body had officially disappeared. Life without eyebrows was interesting. And it meant that all the eyebrow jokes he’d made at Hanamaki had been passed on to him.

_Bless._

“I’ll get payback,” he whispered to himself as he clenched his hand and shook it at the door. But it dropped a moment later, even the effort of holding it up too much. _Ah, this sucks._ But he didn’t dare say it. He didn’t want to tell his parents or his friends how he woke up nauseous more often than not, especially right after treatments. How he tossed and turned all night, uneasy, even without the thoughts of mortality digging their talons into his brain. How he cried to himself in the security of his room so much that he woke up the next morning with red-rimmed, puffy eyes. How he ached, how he felt unsteady, how he was just _tired._

_They don’t need to know. It’s hard enough as it is._

The team had finally fallen back into their old rhythm. He could tell there was something missing, watching from afar, but it was still familiar. Watching how Kyoutani snarled and snapped until Iwaizumi or Yahaba intervened. Oikawa, with his thinly-veiled disdain for flirting with the girls in his fan club, only to turn around and flirt eagerly with an oblivious Iwaizumi - something Matsukawa was certain was from sheer force of willpower on Iwa’s part. Or Kindaichi and Kunimi, practically attached to the hip as Kindaichi barreled his way into everything while Kunimi drifted along behind him, intensity in those eyes, but motivation hiding somewhere deeper. And then there his parents were, growing thin with worry as they watched _him_ get thinner, paler, weaker.

_I hope to fuck this is working. Wasting seventeen years on an only child for him to die before graduating would suck ass._

A wry laugh bubbled to his lips, threatened to burst out, but voices caught his attention. Matsukawa shifted as they drew closer, and this time a more genuine smile curled his lips. _Excellent._

Watari opened the door and stepped in with a chipper grin. Yahaba, however, ran straight into the plastic wrap Matsukawa had set up, just right for the height of someone over one-hundred and eighty centimeters. The second-year yelped and jerked back into Kyoutani, who snapped at him. Matsukawa burst into laughter as he watched the two second-years flail, Watari and the other teammates outside chuckling as they watched.

The laughter ended all too soon when the dizziness returned and Matsukawa sagged forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands catching his face. It only took a moment for three pairs of hands to find him, ones he was intimately familiar with - Iwaizumi’s on his shoulder, Watari’s on his back, Hanamaki’s in his hair.

“Hey man, you okay?” Watari said softly.

Matsukawa took a steadying breath, leaned back, and nodded with a weak smile. “Yeah, just got a little light-headed.”

The three teens eyed him for a long moment before they nodded and pulled away. Matsukawa smiled. Reached for his phone and opened it. A different language greeted him - Korean. When he glanced up he found Makki’s eyes on him, a sweet, mischievous smile curling those dangerous lips. “Payback,” he sang.

Matsukawa just grinned and wiggled his fingers. “Go shower, asshole.”

His friend stuck his tongue out, but he stripped down to his boxers, grabbed his things, and ducked into the bathroom. One by one the rest of the team followed. Once they were all gone Matsukawa got to work. It was easy to grab their extra boxers. Not so easy to tape the clothing all over the room and attach pre-written and drawn sticky notes onto them with his legs aching, head spinning, and eyes heavy, but he managed to pin everything up and he settled back down, satisfied. Matsukawa leaned into the lockers and watched the bathroom door with lidded eyes, waiting patiently. Bored.

_Tired._

He woke when someone touched his shoulder, and he found those warm amber and gold eyes on him, familiar, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. So much that he stopped breathing altogether. “Issei,” Hanamaki said softly, a lilt of amusement in his voice. “Thanks for the underwear and notes. The team loved it. And Watari is getting his shorts down from the flagpole. You were busy.”

He just smiled wearily and nodded. A warm hand cupped his cheek and Matsukawa could only press into it with a tiny sound, eyes fluttering shut again. Warmth. Peace. Dark. Distantly he felt his body press into someone’s warm chest, arms secure around him. Voices, even further off. A soft “-sorry, Mrs. Matsukawa, I-” and “Thank you, Takahiro, you-”

When two hands and arms became four and he began to shift Mattsun made a quiet sound of dissent and turned into that warm, thin chest, clinging to fabric that smelled like peaches and vanilla. “No…” he slurred. And then he was gone.

* * *

 

Matsukawa eyed his list, shaking faintly in his hand. Or maybe it was just his hand that was shaking. It was hard to tell. He closed his eyes with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck this…” he mumbled. He felt so _weak_. Maybe the ache had gone down since the tumor size had decreased enough that it wasn’t jammed up against nerves, but he still felt like shit warmed over. He’d lost a lot of weight - a lot of it hard-earned muscle. The crushing exhaustion from three months ago was gone - anemia was a bitch, but not a bad fix overall. He had two days until surgery. Enough time to cross off the last prank on his list, just in case.

Sticky noting the principal’s car had turned into covering as many cars as he could at the price of missing half a day of classes - that was okay in the end though, because it had been hilarious to see the teachers walk out and laugh or cry. Or both.

He’d filled his classroom with yarn the week before, strung so intricately from desk to chair to chalkboard and more that it had been hilarious to watch students stare at it, wondering how to get it. It had meant getting up two hours before school opened and enlisting the help of Hanamaki, Yahaba, and Watari, but it had been well worth it. Just like filling the common’s area with more cups of water - he couldn’t resist that one, classic as it was.

Two days ago he’d stolen all of the baseball team’s bags while they were in practice, wrapped it all carefully in plastic bags, weighed them down, and dropped them into the fountain. A harmless joke since no one’s stuff had gotten wet, but it had been amusing to watch from the banister of the club room block as they’d fished through the pond, grumbling and laughing.

The same bannister he was currently slumped against, the cool winter air tickling his face. His parents would heckle him for being out in the cold, but he was under so many layers that he felt like if someone knocked him over he’d rock. Three jackets, two sweatshirts, a thermal shirt, thermal shit under his _pants_ , and two scarves, not to mention the hats triple-layered over his bare scalp. He shook his head, smiling faintly, and looked at the list once more.

  1. _Kiss someone (imitate a classic pose or some shit)_



The only one left. And his stomach couldn’t stop doing flips as he thought about what he was about to do - _who_ he was going to kiss. He shoved the crumpled paper into his pocket as Makki slipped out of the club room and nudged him. “Dude, why’re you out here? C’mon, let’s go to the gym.”

“I was waiting on your slow ass.” _And hoping that avoiding you would make this a little easier._ Matsukawa tugged his surgical mask up - he’d gotten sick again, bronchitis this time, and it was shitty enough without catching something else.

Hanamaki eyed him for a moment before he nodded. They walked down the steps together, Hanamaki’s hand on the middle of his back. It was warmer in the gym, so he stripped down to his sweatshirts and settled on the bench, watching as the managers set the nets and carts up before they disappeared to fill the team water bottles. Hanamaki stood a few feet away, twisted and slowly loosening up, extra careful with his tender arm. Oikawa and Iwaizumi walked in a moment later. Matsukawa took a deep breath.

_It’s now or never._

He rose slowly and strode over to his friends, who blinked and smiled at him. He just shoved his phone at Oikawa with a grin he could only hope was natural. “You might want to get a picture of this.”

With that he spun around and slowly made his way back, leg twinging. Hanamaki blinked at him as he moved closer. “Mattsun?”

His cheeks were burning, his hands trembling, but he grabbed his best friend, the boy of his fucking _dreams_ , tipped him back, and kissed him through the mask, right as the gym doors opened. One hand on Makki’s him, the other curled behind his back, supporting him as Matsukawa clenched his eyes shut. The scent of peaches and mint was everywhere, dizzying, something he just wanted to _drown_ himself in.

His mouth ached to move, his fingers twitched, longing to hold tighter. But his arms were shaking, trembling with the strain of holding his friend up. Hands fluttered along his shoulders, but before they could grasp him Matsukawa pulled back, let his friend go, and tugged his mask down, grinning with happiness that didn’t match the anxiety and terror churning in his gut. “List complete,” he sang.

Hanamaki just stared at him, eyes blown wide, before he offered a tiny smile. “Congrats.”

That single word managed to make something in Matsukawa crack as laughter filled the gym, the two of them laughing with it. But his felt hollow and Makki’s sounded strained. Makki missed more spikes and receives in that practice than he _ever_ had. Matsukawa couldn’t tear his eyes away, guilt and uncertainty churning in his gut. The silence when they walked home that night after Oikawa and Iwaizumi departed was unbearable.

It didn’t stop there though.

The quiet that filled the spaces in their conversations the next day made him _ache,_ terrified of what he’d done. He knew Makki was bi - Makki knew he was gay. _But maybe it was just the thought of being kissed by his best friend that freaked him out._

Friday night, two hours before his surgery, found him lying on his back, staring at that stupid picture. “What a joke,” he mumbled to himself as he studied it. Makki’s eyes were wide, one arm blurred, going up towards Matsukawa, while one foot was back, something he must have done to catch himself. A great imitation of that stupid “war’s end” kiss. A terrible way to cap off his pranks.

Matsukawa slammed his phone down on his bed with a groan, but his phone went off a moment later. He stared at the caller ID for a moment before he accepted the call with a sigh. “Oikawa, what’s up.”

_“I’m calling you to tell you that you need to straighten shit up once you get out of the hospital.”_

Matsukawa sat up a little straighter, brow scrunching. “What-”

_“Makki has cried five times since you kissed him - once before yesterday’s morning practice, for the last three nights, and just now I had to calm him down from a panic attack. He’s sleeping now, but… Christ, Matsukawa, did you not realize that he’s been in love with you for the last three years?”_

His jaw fell open. A quiet noise slipped out. “What…?” he whispered, hands shaking as he slowly curled in on himself, the world swimming. His chest felt impossibly tight, restricting even more as his breathing stuttered, heart tripping to a whole new beat. “I-”

 _“Oh Christ…”_ Oikawa sighed. It was all too easy to imagine him dragging his hand down his face. To picture Hanamaki curled up in their friend’s bed, eyes red and cheeks streaked with dried tear tracks. _“Look,”_ Oikawa said, voice softer this time. _“I know you love him too, but Makki has spent the last three years thinking he didn’t have a shot, and then you went and kissed him for a ‘prank’. I know why you did it, but it was kinda a dick move. So you’d better not die tonight, and when you get your ass back to school after break you tell him how you feel, it I’m gonna… fuck, I don’t know, but I’ll do_ something _, okay?”_

“Okay,” Matsukawa croaked. His phone buzzed. He wasn’t sure he was breathing.

_“Good luck, Issei. See you soon.”_

“Thanks.”

Oikawa hung up. Matsukawa turned his phone, checked the text.

**From Meme Lord: good luck issei**

Matsukawa’s phone slipped from his fingers as the tears burned their way out, his body hitching with sobs. That was how the nurse found him, coming in to see why his heart rate was so high, and he just sobbed harder. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

* * *

 

_“The tumor is gone and it seems like the cancer hasn’t spread. We’ll continue radiation for a few more weeks to take care of the remaining cells, but you should be fine.”_

The words were on repeat, clambering through his brain. Had been for the last week. Just like _“good luck issei”_ had been, both phrases seemingly ingrained into the very basis of his being. And determination steeled him, lent him the strength he’d been lacking as he limped down the halls of the deserted school, supported by crutches.

It was too early for the general school population to be there, but he heard the familiar thumps and smacks, and he wrestled his way outside, then to the gym. Watari was the first to greet him, and then a whole chorus of greetings enveloped him. He managed a wave at them, but his eyes found Hanamaki, but he stared at his feet, picked at his fingers, a nervous habit Mattsun recognized all too well.

Matsukawa’s gut flipped, but he managed a smile and made his way along the edge of the gym to the bench and flopped down beside Coach Irihata. “Welcome back, Matsukawa,” Coach said after a moment.

He smiled back  and leaned forward, arms hooked through his crutches. “Thanks Coach, it’s good to see you all again.” Though he wasn’t sure if the sentiment was shared. Seeing Hanamaki in person was worse than reading those few lackluster texts he’d gotten while stuck at the hospital and then at home for the last week. He looked haggard, discolored bags beneath his eyes, hair rumpled and going shaggy, the brown roots bleeding through. He’d been picking at his lips and nails too, the remnants of blood visible in the crevices of his fingernails.

Mattsun’s fingers tightened.

He watched with hooded eyes as the team worked, running around until it was thirty minutes before school began. Coach Irihata sent them off to the showers, and Matsukawa waited for a bit before he made his way to the base of the stairs. And then he waited. There were ten minutes until classes began when Hanamaki appeared at the top of the stairs and froze, one hand on the railing, eyes on Matsukawa. He waved. “C’mon, let’s talk, yeah?”

Hanamaki’s throat bobbed, but he nodded and slowly made his way downstairs. “I’m sorry I didn’t message you much- I just- I was busy, and-”

“Takahiro.”

That managed to shut his mouth, and Hanamaki followed him. Right up until the point where he turned a corner to a vacant part of the school and shifted so they could see each other. Makki shifted on his feet, raw fingertips fluttering by his sides, and smiled as his eyes darted around, settling on everything but Mattsun.

“Y’know, we’ve got class-”

_“Hiro.”_

Hanamaki’s mouth clamped shut and his eyes finally slid over. His hands settled in front of him, nails scraping at the skin. Matsukawa let his crutches clatter to the ground as he hopped forward and took those fragile, slender hands in his, pulling them apart. Those five centimeters between them were far more apparent with them so close that their breaths mixed, amber eyes fluttering as they flicked away, back, away again.

“Takahiro, I’m _sorry_ ,” he breathed, fingers tightened on those shaking hands, his own steadier than they had been for _months._ “I… it was a stupid thing to do. I didn’t want our first kiss to be because of a fucking prank, but… I don’t know, I guess I thought it would go a little differently, but the truth is that I fucking fucked the fuck up-”

A giggle burst out, sharp, and a smile came to life on Hanamaki’s lips, a tiny ember. One that made Matsukawa want to melt to the floor in a pathetic little puddle as he smiled too.

“I fucked up,” he said again, just for emphasis, before he barrelled on, “Because _I fucking love you._ And I never want you to think my love for you is a joke, and-”

Warm, chapped lips brushed his. The world shuddered to a halt. The hands he held shifted, tangled their fingers together as Makki pressed their bodies close, tipped his head a little to the side. The scent of peach shampoo and minty toothpaste tickled his nose and Matsukawa had never inhaled so desperately as his eyes shut tight.

_Don’t let this be a dream._

He breathed the words, unconscious, and Hanamaki laughed against his mouth as their hands came apart and arms looped around Matsukawa’s neck, pulling him even closer.

“It’s not,” Makki whispered, _“Finally.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed ლ(´ڡ`ლ) Like, seriously.
> 
> Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading. Hit my tumblr up if you want more.


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